


Crimson Silk & Clover Flowers

by exalted_free_marches



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cole (Dragon Age) Being Cole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exalted_free_marches/pseuds/exalted_free_marches
Summary: Scenes from a budding romance between a certain dwarf and the Herald of Andraste, an uncommonly sweet Dalish elf with a passion for stories.





	1. Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of a likely very long fic! It's kind of a niche group of people I'm writing for(including myself, lol. Shameless Varricmancer) but I just hope someone enjoys it. If you liked it, consider leaving a comment!

He watched the elf out of the corner of his eye as she jogged into view over the crest of a snow-capped hill. Her hair was a dark red, its lighter tones glinting in the reflected light - a stark contrast against the pale white of the mountain. It fluttered in the wind, long and curled, tugging and pulling where it was being blown. Her features were small and dainty, her cheeks flushed from the icy mountain breeze. She didn’t look like a murderer, he thought. She just looked like an elf.

Seeker Cassandra had brought her up the mountain. She stood uncomfortably close, like she thought her prisoner would jump at the first opportunity to run away from all this - as if she could take to the skies and fly away, though she probably wished she could. The elf carried a longbow, and as she entered the fray it could have been mistaken for an extension of her arm. Her dexterity was admirable, but they were ass-deep in demons and needed help fast. 

Solas ran to her, gripping her arm and pulling it up towards the rift. With his guidance, she opened and closed her left palm repeatedly, a green glow emanating from within it as the rift crackled and buzzed, splitting into pieces before it collapsed into dust, disappearing. 

“What did you do?” She spoke, eyes wide in confusion. Solas answered, sure in his knowledge of the fade. Varric could only watch in wonder, and a distinctly familiar feeling of fear bubbled up in his gut.

\---------------------

Velahris was her name, of Clan Lavellan. She was quiet and shy, and a tiny thing even by elven standards - she was barely taller than him, which was surprisingly refreshing. She was hardly the picture of strength and authority that her title suggested. The Herald of Andraste. A nonhuman. But she was kind, and honest, with a biting tongue and surprising wit. Varric wondered how she got to be so funny, having lived in the forest riding Halla and picking elfroot her whole life.

But as he found out, that wasn’t all her life. She was quite the academic in her spare time, trading for books when her clan met with humans. She had heard of his books, but only in passing - never having read them herself. Of course, he offered her a copy of his Tale Of The Champion to look over, if she fancied it. 

She accepted, smiling, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she took the book from his hands. He could see her vallaslin better now - the markings were different to Daisy’s, small winding branches tattooed across her forehead and chin. The rest of her face was unmarred, though, and her pale freckled skin showed through.

“My vallaslin. You want to know what they mean, don’t you?” She asks, quietly. Varric nods, offering her a seat by the fire. The bench hardly even squeaked when she sat.

“I’m not unfamiliar with the practice, but I don’t know everything. Enlighten me?” Varric says, leaning back and preparing for a lecture.

“They’re tattoos that show adulthood, and represent patronage to our gods.” She explains, her words soft and sure. “Mine are symbols of Ghilan’nain. They’re supposed to look like a halla, but I’m not quite sure…” 

He wondered how it must feel, being the Herald of a god she didn’t believe in. Being shoved into a role she didn’t ask for or want, suddenly pried away from her family and friends and the life she was familiar with. But she seemed to be taking it remarkably well, embracing the role as if it was always meant for her. He found her uniquely easy to respect.

“They’re just fine, Herald. You know, I had a friend - another Dalish. She had markings like yours, but they were different...” Varric muses, chuckling at the memory of Merrill - her big elf eyes and innocent, naive disposition. He almost missed her.

“Oh? In Kirkwall? Who was she?” She asks, with curious intent. He noticed that she wasn’t too dissimilar to Daisy: round, blue-green eyes and an expression that spoke volumes about her past - sheltered, he suspected, even lonely.

“Merrill. Hawke seemed to like her a great deal, and I have to admit she grew on me too. Daisy was a rare creature.” He reminisced fondly on his days in Kirkwall, when everything was simpler. Sure, there was Meredith and the Arishok, but fortunately a hole in the sky was not one of Hawke’s troubles.

“Daisy? That’s a lovely nickname. I wish I had one, so people would stop calling me ‘Herald’ all the time.” Her lips pinch into a lopsided frown. Varric thinks for a moment, then offers a solution.

“How about… Clover? I think it suits you.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow. It did suit her - he could see the green of the leaves in her yet-to-be-changed Dalish leathers, the pale pink of her skin in the delicate flowers.

“Clover. It’s perfect.” She smiles warmly, the dimples in her cheeks revealing themselves.

It was nice to finally see her smile.


	2. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Hope you enjoy chapter 2!

Vel liked the Inquisition so far. Apart from the constant, destructive fighting between the Mages and Templars, that is. She enjoyed roaming the hills and valleys of the Hinterlands, exploring a land she’d never seen before. Ferelden was foreign to her, as was its history and politics, for the most part. She found herself being lectured by Josephine in her spare time - knees tucked up to her chin, nose in a book trying to grasp the concepts she was being taught. No one could say she wasn’t an attentive pupil.

Her hands slid across the pages, crinkling against the parchment as she underlined the words with her finger. A cup of tea sat on the bench beside her, rapidly cooling in the crisp mountain air. A warm, orange sunrise crept over the horizon, bathing Haven in its glow. A light snow had fallen in the night, and the fresh dusting sparkled as the sun rose ever higher into the sky. Vel’s face was caressed in warmth where the sunlight touched it, and she reveled in the feeling as she pressed the book’s covers back together and set it down. She had studied enough for the day, and it was time to train. She usually woke up early, even before dawn, to practice - it suited her well. Haven was still asleep, and even today its inhabitants were barely stirring when Vel set out to the forest to catch her breakfast. She didn’t have to, of course, but she needed all the practice she could get. 

She snuck unnoticed through the sleeping village, barely leaving tracks in the snow - just like her mentors taught her. She followed the trails of animals until she found fresh tracks, following the signs until she came upon a nice, plump hare. Her skills as a hunter allowed her to move closer and closer to the animal until she could get a clear shot, all the while maintaining absolute silence - her breathing slow and deep, her movements calculated and sure. 

Her bare feet planted themselves into the earth, grounding herself for the shot. She nocked an arrow, pulled the bowstring taut, and as quick as it started it was over. The hare lay motionless on the ground. She almost felt bad for the poor thing, as she picked up its carcass and brought it back to camp to cook. But such things were necessary, and sometimes even the innocent must be sacrificed.

\---------------

The tantalizing smell of cooked meat wafted into Varric’s tent, and quickly roused him from his slumber. He wondered who was cooking at this hour - who would even be awake. He suspected maybe one of the scouts, or perhaps even Cassandra. Though, he didn’t get the impression she could cook very well, and he was practically salivating already. His stomach growled, and reluctantly he stepped out into the cold morning air to get a better look at the prospects for breakfast. 

As soon as he emerged, he was met with the Herald’s curious eyes looking up at him from where she sat, perched in a crouch atop the bench, turning a roast rabbit on a spit over the fire. It looked as good as it smelled, encrusted with herbs and spices, no doubt a special elven recipe. She appeared to be proud of her culinary work, watching it closely as if to judge the perfect time to remove it from the flames. He found this aspect of her charming - the way she looked when she focused intently on something. It was as if she blocked the whole rest of the world out, and the only things that existed in her little moment were herself and the task at hand. 

She hummed as she removed the cooked meat from the spit, gently setting it on a plate and beginning to carve it. The song was an unfamiliar tune, but he found himself wanting to hum along with her. He could have sworn he’d heard that same melody somewhere before. He was almost drooling when the she finally handed him a plate, piled high with meat and cooked vegetables. She smiled as he eagerly accepted the food, and watched expectantly as he took his first bite. In a single moment, he was brought home - to the Hanged Man, the flavors of that stew so familiar to his tongue it felt less like a memory. He should have expected it, but he didn’t. He was caught off guard.

“Is it… alright? That face you’re making is a little hard to read.” The Herald murmurs, and Varric snaps back to the present. He chuckles - a breathy, almost sad sound. Then, he smiles.

“It’s delicious, Clover. Reminds me of a dish back home, actually. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Kirkwall?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“No. But I’d like to, someday. There are so many things I’ve never seen. So much of this world that’s new. I have to admit, it’s daunting. All these people look up to me, and I can’t even remember the titles of Fereldan nobility...” She laughs sadly, sharing this one small worry with him. Immediately, she appears to think even that was too much.

“Oh, Creators. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain.” She crawls back into herself, suddenly conscious of her perceived breach of decorum. 

“Clover, you have every right to complain. There’s a massive hole in the sky, mages and templars are killing each other left and right, and you’re stuck in the middle of all this with a magic mark on your hand. And to top it all off, you’re in a country you don’t know, with people you don’t know, the Herald of a god who isn’t your own and the face of an Inquisition that you didn’t call. But, from where I’m standing, you look like you’re doing pretty well.” He pities the poor thing. She didn’t ask for this - she was, effectively, a prisoner. And so was he. They were both there against their will, but they might as well make the best of it.

“Thank you, Varric. I… I appreciate it.” And she truly did.


	3. The Anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy chapter 3! And if you were wondering, this is going to be an AGONIZINGLY slow slow burn fic.

Vel studied the Anchor, hopelessly, for a while. Each time she tried to make sense of it, she ended up looking past it, its fade-green glow drawing her in. She couldn’t seem to find its edges, or where it stopped - whether it was superficial, or went on forever. Was it a portal into the Fade? If she dropped something into it, where would it go, if anywhere at all? She had so many questions, but all remained unanswered. 

It frustrated her. She craved the knowledge that no one else possessed. She wanted to learn the secrets of that which made her special, but nobody had the answers. Even Solas, who seemed to know more than most, would only give vague explanations and theories as to what happened to her, and what her mark means. She didn’t feel like Andraste’s chosen, nor did she want to be. She wanted to go home - to see her Keeper again. She wanted to be with other elves, who were friends to her. There were too many humans here, suspicious and afraid. That was never a good sign for an elf looking to keep her life. 

She found herself fast friends with Varric - she enjoyed his stories, the tales of his adventures with Hawke. He was the only other nonhuman in the Inquisition, apart from Solas, who didn’t seem to like her all that much. The dwarf made her feel like she belonged, never once appearing to question her role in all this. He believed in her. And she needed that - needed someone to have faith that she was the right fit.

Cassandra still wasn’t certain, and it was no secret to Vel. She would often catch her, late at night, praying in the Chantry. For guidance, for deliverance, for an answer. But somehow, deep down, Vel thought she knew she would get no reply. It was simply her attempt to justify her actions, of calling the Inquisition and saving the Herald from the wrath of the faithful. She wanted the Seeker to believe in her like Varric did. She wanted to be sent from the Maker, in their time of need, for Cassandra’s sake. 

She wanted to feel like she was right, but everything was wrong. She wasn’t one of the faithful - in fact, she was a little Dalish girl from the Free Marches who didn’t even wear shoes before the Conclave. She didn’t even believe in the Maker, but… Maybe the Creators sent her? But why would they send one of their People to the humans in their hour of need, when the elves have problems of their own that need solving? All that thinking left her head aching, a pounding, burning sensation tearing through her temples as she closes her palm. She didn’t realize she’d been looking through the Anchor all this time. She had to admit, it was mesmerizing.

At times she’d sit in the corner of the Chantry hall, legs crossed, trying to find a quiet moment to herself. The smell of the incense almost calmed her, its earthy spice reminded her of home. The Green Dales. She yearned to be back there - to lie in the lush grasses and watch the Halla graze, hear the wind flapping through the silk sails of the aravels. She still slumbered beneath the same stars, as the fire popped and crackled outside her tent. But here she was safe, and warm, and sheltered from the howling mountain wind and biting chill, bundled up in furs. And she had a friend here, which was more than she had ever thought possible. She had never imagined she would ever even leave her clan, let alone embrace life outside of it - but she found adventure here, and it was intoxicating. She wanted to stay. 

Some nights, she would remain awake until the bustle of Haven quieted down. She’d sit by the fire, humming an old Dalish tune, delicately carving another wooden halla. She’d made the first long ago, and its white paint was rubbing off, the consequence of many years of anxiously thumbing its surface. The craftsmanship was better on the second try, its horns intertwined in such a complex pattern that you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. It reminded her of her vallaslin - a spectacular, vibrant blue against her skin. The winding sapphire horns of Ghilan’nain’s halla curled across her brow, marking her as a Dalish. She was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t notice Varric, making his way to the fire after a long night playing Wicked Grace.

“Mind if I join you, Clover?” He asks, waiting for permission to sit.

“You’re always welcome, Varric.” She answers, wordlessly telling him he doesn’t have to ask. He took a seat on the bench across from her, setting Bianca down beside him and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. He stifled a yawn, then looked up - suddenly intrigued by the little carving she’d been perfecting.

“That must be the tiniest Halla I’ve ever seen.” He chuckled, and she grinned in affirmation.

“I decided to make a new one. I have one from years ago, but it’s getting a little… Old.” She explains, tugging the small figure out of her pocket. Varric could tell it was well-loved, probably by a very nervous young elf judging by the smudging of its paint. Parts of its horns were chipped or missing entirely. It was charming, in a way, how she sought to preserve this little artifact of her childhood, her life before it turned upside down. 

“I carved it when I was very young. I always did have a way with knives.” Her laugh was breathy and quick, a fleeting moment of lighthearted remembrance. It was refreshing to see her happy. The fate of the world rested on her shoulders - It would do her good to lay down that burden, if only for a moment or two. 

“That you do, Clover. That you do.”


	4. Val Royeaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally obsessed with the design of Val Royeaux in DAI so I had to give it its own little chapter.

Vel was mesmerized as soon as she stepped through the gates to Val Royeaux. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before; the buildings, painted a vibrant shade of blue. The magnificent golden domes and arches. The eight massive silks that hung between the middle tower of the Bazaar and its many balconies. The city was beyond beautiful. It was positively buzzing with life, in a way that she was unaccustomed to. And though she was here strictly on business, she couldn’t help but explore a little.

She found herself looping in between the stalls, taking a moment to finger the soft silks and admire the sparkling gemstones being sold. Cassandra was following her, apologizing profusely to anyone she may have offended with her behavior, but she was experiencing something completely new, and simply could not help herself. She’d never seen anything like it, and she felt almost like a child again. Giddy and running about with glee, momentarily stopping to smell the sweet flowers which bloomed on bushes dotted around the courtyard.

Even as she was wrapped up in discovering the city, she could not deny she had work to do. They had come to Val Royeaux to speak to the Chantry mothers, about what happened at the Conclave. To explain themselves, and hopefully get her out of being executed. But instead, they ran into Lord Seeker Lucius, Cassandra’s former superior. Vel did not have good feelings about their meeting. As it turns out, her gut was right - as it always is. The man brutalized a Revered Mother without even flinching and, deciding that the city was no longer worthy of their protection, removed all Templars from the city. Now that was bad.

Vel was thoroughly confused. She was by no means an expert on either the Chantry or the Templar order, but she was under the impression that the Templars served the Chantry, or at the very least held it in high regard. But apparently, that respect was no longer. She did not come seeking confrontation, but that is what she got. She wasn’t sure why she was even surprised. Defeated, she was about to return to Haven when an arrow whizzed past her head and lodged itself between the cobbles at her feet. Instinctively, she turned around to see where it came from, but whoever shot it was long gone by the time she looked. A note was attached to the arrow, which she read aloud. 

This note send her on a scavenger hunt through the Bazaar, which exasperated Cassandra and Solas so greatly that they had to sit and wait in the garden while Vel and Varric searched together. The item in the market was easy to find, being that it was essentially in plain sight. Varric spotted the item in the cafe, a red cloth between two tables. However, the item at the docks was surprisingly difficult to locate, and left the two perplexed for quite a while before they finally resigned to enjoying the sights of the city.

“It really is beautiful here. Orlesians sure do know how to build a city.” She muses, staring longingly at her reflection in the water. She could hardly believe it was the Waking Sea. She’d been to the Storm Coast - seen its fury in person. But here it was so calm and flat, it reflected the details of her face like a mirror. 

“Yeah. Sure is. But realistically, what do they have on us Marchers?” Varric chuckled, only half-serious. He was curious to see what her answer would be.

“Oh, I don’t know. Some semblance of political or economic security? Delicious desserts? Or just one less crazy Knight Commander?” She answered. She was sharp as a tack, he had to give her that. It was endearing. But he noticed that she’d mentioned Meredith - had she finished it already?

“Oh, Meredith? I’m sure there are others like her. We just haven’t watched them turn to lyrium yet. Speaking of, have you finished the Tale?” He asked, leaning over the balustrade. He watched his own reflection in the water, then let his eyes flicker to hers for just a moment - no, less that a moment. When their eyes met, she smiled enthusiastically. It was a genuine gesture, one that he greatly appreciated.

“I have! Oh, it was wonderful, Varric! I can’t even fathom how one person managed to do all that. That’s one thing I don’t even want to try to understand. Though I can see why you like him so much, he sounds like quite the man.” Her eyes were warm and wide and glimmered with a hint of curiosity. They were the same shade reflected in the water - an oceanic blue-green that shone back tones of gold in the sun. They were a lovely compliment to her vallaslin which, he noted, were blue. An uncommon color, and a rare sight in an Orlesian city, but she wore it with pride. Every part of her was so unapologetic and honest. He admired her for that. There was no fear in her, only a thirst for knowledge and the desire for adventure. Nothing held her back. 

“He is. Hey, who knows, you might even meet him someday. I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about by the time all this is over.” He offers her a smile back, for once without a snarky remark to go with it. He was so accustomed to sarcasm that he hardly remembered what it was like to just be kind. 

“Oh, I’m sure we will. But he never had to seal a hole in the sky using nothing but his bare hands, right? Or did I miss that chapter?” She playfully quirks an eyebrow, placing her hand on her hip. 

“No, you’re right, Clover. He didn’t. But neither have you yet, remember?” He chastises. 

“I’m working on it, okay? Everyone’s a critic…” She laughs heartily. Varric holds his arms up in mock-surrender, and can't help but chuckling along with her.

“Now, now, Herald, I meant no offense. You’re doing just fine.” He claps a hand on her shoulder, silently reassuring her. She leans into his touch, comfortable enough with him not to worry about anything else. Vel takes a long, deep breath in, then exhales in a sigh.

“I… Sorry. It’s just been a while. Unless you count Cassandra almost ripping my arm off, that is.” The poor thing was so starved for comfort, it was sad. But he was content to just stay there, talking with her. He wouldn’t admit it, but he needed a rest too.

“Join the club. She dragged me here all the way from Kirkwall. I think she takes her job title a little too seriously.” He quipped. It was the truth - the Seeker had well and truly hauled him, against his will, to tell his story to the Divine. However, that plan didn’t work out too well.

The wind had picked up as the sun started to set, waves lapping against the docks as they found the last item amidst a pile of nets on the far side of the walkway. They started on the way back to Cassandra and Solas, who were surely wondering where they were; but before they met back up, Vel turned to him and grinned.

“This… was nice. We should do it more often.” Her lips curled up, and he subconsciously noticed the freckles that peppered her face. They were small and light-colored, but still very much there. Some even dotted her lips, which was uncommon enough for him to note it.

“We definitely should, Clover. It was nice to finally have a break.” He answers, honestly, for the first time in a long, long while. She sensed this and turned back towards the courtyard, chuckling.

“It certainly was.”


	5. The Storm Coast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter but a LOT softer. Hope you enjoy!

Vel could tell the sea made Varric uncomfortable, but unlike him, she loved it. The salt-spray on her face, the smell of the air, the way her hair crunched between her fingers after a day exploring by the water’s edge. She had taken to braiding it into intricate plaits, pinning it atop her head so it wouldn’t get in her way. She refused to cut it, however annoying it became - she was determined to keep that part of her past alive.

Varric hated it. The undulating of the water and the tides nauseated him, and reminded him of the journey from Kirkwall. He wouldn’t be doing that again any time soon, if he could help it. And for that matter, he couldn’t swim. It just wasn’t natural for dwarves to be anywhere near the ocean, let alone floating in it. He wasn’t even sure if dwarves _did_ float, and he wasn’t about to find out. But as he watched Vel frolic at the water’s edge, the bad feelings subsided for a bit.

There she stood, naked feet and breeches rolled up to her knees, catching crabs in a tidepool. If anyone saw, it would surely be fuel for gossip - but it was quiet and still for the moment, and no one except mercenaries and bandits inhabited the Coast, so Cassandra allowed her this small, momentary diversion. She wasn’t the Herald right now - she was Vel. The Dalish with a playful streak a mile wide.

“I can’t believe you’re allowing this, Seeker. You and Ruffles have really cracked down on her behavior since the incident in Val Royeaux.” Varric sighs, leaning against a rock large enough to support him. The Seeker stood opposite him, watching the Herald like a hawk. The new recruit, a Qunari called Iron Bull, cleaned his axe beside Cassandra.

“It was a… momentary breach of etiquette. Josephine is certain it will not happen again.” She explains, a smile tugging at her lips while she watches the playfully screeching elf. She had a crab clamped to her finger, and was thrashing her arm around wildly to try and get it off.

“Is she always like this?” The Iron Bull looked distinctly confused, pausing his actions for a moment to watch his new leader make a fool of herself.

“Yes. She is a Dalish elf, after all. They tend to be…” Cassandra starts, but trails off before she can finish. Varric decides to take matters into his own hands, to preserve her dignity. It was the least he could do.

“Moony. That’s the word you were looking for. But Clover’s alright. She’s got more courage bottled up in that little body than you’d think.” He adds, glancing over his shoulder at her again. She had waded further out and he caught her just as she dove headfirst into the waves. She emerged a few seconds later, clothes and hair soaked and stuck to her skin. She was laughing, her head thrown back as she reveled in the freedom of the feeling. It was a sweet sound, a lighthearted giggle that warmed his heart.

“Never thought the leader of the Inquisition would be… _cute_.” Bull replies, chuckling to himself. Varric had to admit she _was_ cute, in her own unique way. She had those big elf eyes, full of wonder and light. She was small and gentle and he could see why her appearance was deceiving. But he knew the truth of it. She might even be braver than Curly.

“I’ll find somewhere to make camp. You two keep an eye on her.” Cassandra groaned, turning away from the Herald. She headed off inland, and Varric suspected it would be a while before she found somewhere suitable. Once the Seeker was out of earshot, Vel beckoned him towards her, shouting his name in earnest.

“Come on, Varric! The water’s perfect!” She calls out to him once again, waving him down to the water’s edge. He went no further than that, shaking his head at her.

“Dwarves don’t swim, Clover. It’s not in our nature.” He tries to explain as nicely as possible, but she frowns anyway.

“Well, can’t dwarves stick their dwarfy toes in? You looked a little bored over there with The Iron Bull.” She was far too observant for his liking. He couldn’t hide from her, and he hated to see her upset. So, for some reason he obliged, tugging off his boots with a sigh and wading in up to his ankles. The water was surprisingly warm and he could easily see how she was so comfortable. She waddled over to him, pressing a cool, wet hand to his.

“There. That’s not so bad, is it?” She coos, a wide grin plastered on her face. Her thumb rubbed softly against the back of his hand, whether subconsciously or on purpose he didn’t know. All he knew was that it was comforting.

“I guess not. But don’t go pushing me in anytime soon, alright?” He smirked, consigning himself to enjoy the moment. He didn’t really know how or why he ended up in the water, but he didn’t regret it. It had been a long time since anyone changed his mind through sheer force of will. She truly was one of a kind.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	6. Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets a little glimpse into Vel's past, and shows her his rarely seen softer side.

Redcliffe almost reminded Vel of home. Busier, and with more Apostates, but she was more comfortable there than she probably should have been. Although, she did have a sneaking suspicion that there was something not quite right going on. As it turned out, unsurprisingly, her initial thoughts were correct. It seemed that a Tevinter magister by the name of Alexius had enslaved the mage rebellion and was holed up in the town. It would not be easy to reclaim the mages, but Vel had her heart set on it. The Templars were husks of their former selves, a shadow of the great organization that once protected mages and non-mages alike from the dangers of magic. She could only hope this alliance would serve the Inquisition better.

She knew it would not be a popular decision, and she struggled with that fact. Above all, her duty was to the people of Thedas. She was responsible for their safety, and tried her utmost to ensure that the decisions made by the Inquisition was in their best interest. She desperately tried to not let her personal biases affect her decision-making capabilities, but she did have a personal qualm with Templars - her little brother had been sent to the Starkhaven Circle many years ago, and had never returned or sent word. She supposed that was because all the mages from its Circle were transferred to Kirkwall soon after he arrived, and she had to assume he was dead, or at least made Tranquil. It was a terrifying thought, but it was the only realistic option. 

Vel knelt, flowers in hand, at a grave. She read the inscription aloud to herself, then placed them into the copper bowl that lay there. Not paying attention to her balance, she faltered as she rose, falling back slightly. She teetered on the edge of tumbling backwards down a hill before Varric pulled her back up. He grasped her by the arm, tugging gently to get her back on even ground. 

“You looked like you were gonna take a tumble there, Clover. Everything alright?” He asks, the concern evident in his voice. She sighs, and for a moment she doesn’t want to share. She doesn’t want him to feel bad for her. To _pity_ her. But the feeling passes, and she sits cross-legged in front of the shrine, beckoning him down beside her.

“I’ve never mentioned my family, have I? I kept thinking someone would ask, but they never did. I guess there’s not much to talk about anyway, but…” He could see the sorrow in her eyes, the sparkle so familiar to him gone from sight. All that remained was emptiness, and a distinct look that he recognized as longing.

“Your family? I guess you haven’t. What is there to know?” He asks, half-expecting a dismissal. He was pleasantly surprised that she was willing to share.

“My parents left the clan when I was very young. I can hardly remember them now. I’m sure my mother had light-colored hair, and my father had a lovely singing voice. But not much else.” As if by divine intervention, she suddenly realized she still carried the sketches with her. She took the leather case from her knapsack and carefully unveiled the drawings to Varric. She traced the lines of the figures, as if she wished could determine the feeling of their skin through the thin vellum.

“These are my brothers. Silvhen is older, and the little one is Ethelan. He always was a troublemaker.” She points to three small figures in the middle of the page, beneath their parents. The boy on the far left, clearly her older brother, had a stern face and shaggy reddish hair. The boy on the right was considerably shorter, likely a toddler at the time the drawing was made. His hair was a much lighter shade of red, and he also appeared to have freckles. What really drew his attention, though, was the little girl in the center. She wore a wide smile, and though it was odd seeing her without her vallaslin, she looked so familiar. The freckles and dimples were all there. Her arms were crossed defiantly around her chest, and her copper colored hair was braided down either side of her head, with a few unruly curls sticking out at irregular intervals. This was undeniably the Herald, and as a child no less.

“Is that you, Clover? And here I thought elves just sprouted from the ground.” Varric jokes, trying to lighten the mood a little. Vel smiles, then continues on with her story.

“Yes. That’s me! The single cutest child in my clan. That didn’t last long, though. When our parents left, the Keeper took us in. She was like a mother to us. At least, to me and ‘Lan. ‘Vhen left as soon as he could, said he went after our parents. I haven’t heard from him since then.” She explains, and he can see the worry in her eyes. He fears he made it worse.

“And what about your little brother?” He asks, hesitantly. He doesn’t want to push her, but he can’t help his curiosity.

“He came into his magic not long after ‘Vhen left. He was… too powerful for us to keep him safe. Keeper Deshanna had to send him to the Circle in Starkhaven. The last time I saw him, he was being dragged away by Templars. The Keeper had to hold me back. I screamed and screamed. He must have cried the whole way there...” When she spoke, Varric could have sworn he saw a tear well up in her eye, but it quickly disappeared.

“And all this… Mage business. It reminded you of him, didn’t it?” He asked, and she nodded in solemn affirmation. 

“From what I hear, all their mages were sent to Kirkwall. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what happened next.” The thickness in the air was tangible. How she could appear so stoic when talking about this, he had no idea.

“I can guess. I’m sorry, Clover. I hope you find each other someday. I know how hard it is to lose family.” He noticed that her eyes were still glued to the parchment, fingers ghosting over the sketches of her lost family. Without thinking, he closed his hand over hers - it didn’t take much to completely eclipse them. He’d almost forgotten how small she was until she tried to lace her fingers in his, only to give up after a few tries and simply wrap her fist around one of his fingers. It was a comical sight, but he dared not laugh. She was upset, and he only wanted to comfort her - not make her cry.

“I… Thank you, Varric. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. After all these years…” She leans over to look at him, a sad smile on her lips. For a split second, he swears he can see that sparkle coming back.

“I’m here if you need me, Clover. Always.”


	7. In Hushed Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for sure a turning point... Get your tissues/popcorn ready.

Vel knew this _future_ was bad - the red lyrium growing out of the walls suggested as much. But once she found Varric in the cells, the horror finally hit her. Corrupted energy radiated from his body, the air around him hot and hazy. His skin was pale. He looked dead.

“Varric? Is that you?” She calls out, pulling herself close against the bars of the cage. He shifts away from the corner of the cell, hearing a familiar voice.

“Andraste’s sacred knickers, Clover! You’re… alive?” He says, pulling himself to his feet and making his way to the door. 

As Dorian explained the situation, she couldn’t help but stare at him. His eyes were different - glowing and speckled with crimson, full of fear. It shook her to the core.

“You want to take down Alexius? I’m in. Let’s go.” He doesn’t bother trying to understand what happened further, slinging Bianca over his shoulder and joining Vel and Dorian in the hall.

\---------------------------

Dorian crouched over Alexius’ lifeless body, searching for the amulet he used to transport them forward in time. Vel felt distinctly guilty for killing him, but she knew it had to be done. Sacrifices were necessary to ensure that this future will never come to pass. He finds the amulet quickly, remarking how it appears to be one which they made together. It comforted her that he knew how to fix this.

“Thank the Creators. Dorian, when we get back to Haven, drinks are on me.” She sighs, silently praying to every god she knows for deliverance.

“Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.” He says, before Leliana cuts in.

“An hour? That’s impossible - you must go now!” Just as she speaks the building starts to rumble, and Vel can hear the screech of a large animal and the beating of wings overhead. Dust and rubble falls all around them, and she grips her bow just a little tighter.

“The Elder One.” Leliana gives a solemn warning, even more so than usual.

“You have to hurry. This is _bad_.” Varric exclaims, before turning to Cassandra and nodding. “We’ll hold the main door. Once they break through, it’s all you, Nightingale.”

“I… I’m so sorry. I’ll make this right.” Vel promises, with as much confidence as she can muster. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make Varric’s lip twitch upwards one last time.

“I know you will, Clover. Say hi to _me_ for me, will ya?” His laugh was gravelly and rough, but somehow still had the same comforting feeling that left her a little less on edge.

“I think I can do that.” She gives a small, barely there smile before turning back to Dorian, who quickly got to work on deciphering the spell used to transport them. 

Her heart sank into her stomach as soon as she watched the door shut on Cassandra and Varric. He’d leaned his head over while it was still open, to catch one last glimpse of her before the end. She tried her utmost to give him a smile.

\--------------------------

When the demons broke through the door, it took all her might not to scream. They tossed Varric and Cassandra’s lifeless bodies on the floor like sacks of potatoes. Leliana was praying, and shooting. But all Vel could focus on was Varric’s glassy red eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Dorian had her hand grasped in his while he worked, focusing intently, seemingly not distracted at all by what was happening around them. 

As Dorian finished with the spell, Leliana was apprehended by the demons, looking straight into Vel’s eyes as they killed her. And at that moment, she finally screamed. Like the day the Templars took Ethelan - a bloodcurdling, desperate cry. It jarred Dorian out of his focus, but thankfully the spell was reversed, and the magic brought them back into the present.

The first thing Vel did was unsheathe the blade at her side and press it to Alexius’ throat, tears still streaming down her face. Her hand shook as she held it there, searching his eyes for any hint of remorse. She found none that she could discern.

“You will not have me. And neither will your Elder One.” She growls, releasing him from into the custody of the Inquisition’s soldiers. The dagger slipped from her hand, clattering to the ground as her body began to shake. She was familiar with this feeling, but it was _not_ a good time. Not here. She can’t look weak in front of her people.

“C’mon, Clover. Let’s get you out of here.” All of a sudden, Varric’s arm was around her, careful and comforting, guiding her to the door. 

He didn’t have to ask if she was okay - he could tell she wasn’t. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf, shuddering under his hand. He’d never seen her so upset before. Once they made their way outside she took a deep, shaky breath of the fresh air. 

“They killed _everyone_. I watched Cassandra die. I watched Leliana die. I watched _you_ die.” She sobs, voice cracking, tears flowing in tracks down her cheeks like rainwater on a dusty windowpane. “You sacrificed yourself for me. You died for me.”

 _Well, shit_. He reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand, using his handkerchief to blot away the tears. Her face was warm and red from crying, but her hand was ice cold when she placed it over his. All she had to do was look, and his resolve melted. Her eyelashes were wet with tears, eyes bluer than he thought blue could ever be. On a whim he pulled her into him, closer than was proper, but he didn’t care. She pressed her face against the top of his head and began to cry with a force he hadn’t thought possible from such a small woman.

It was painful to see her like that. It hurt him, somewhere deep in his guts, in a place he hadn’t felt anything for a very long time. All Varric could do was hold her steady as the torrents of pain flooded through her. The scars of old memories were torn open again, and he instantly knew why it scared her so much. He rocked her, left and right, almost as you would an agitated child. It seemed to relax her, though, and she slowly started to peel her body away from his.

“Of course I did. You have the power to change things. To do more than I ever could. You’re one of a kind, Clover.” He finally speaks, his words the absolute truth. She captured his thumb in her fist, and looked so deeply into his eyes he thought she could see into his very soul.

“It’s nice to have someone believe in me.”


	8. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vel struggles with nightmares from the aftermath of her experience in Redcliffe, and Varric is tasked with helping her through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally starting to get good! I wrote this pretty quickly so I hope it's alright... :)

Vel hadn’t been sleeping lately. Not well, at least. It had been a week since Redcliffe, and her nightmares were unending. Often she’d wake in a cold sweat, gasping and choking, grasping out her hands for something solid to hold onto but finding nothing but empty sheets. There were nights, though few and far between, where she’d sleep for a few hours. But it was never more than that. She’d wake, sobbing into her pillow, Varric’s dead eyes flashing red in the back of her mind. 

She’d almost given up trying. Nothing good came of it - she knew she’d be up only hours later, forced awake by a night terror. But tonight was different.

It killed Varric to see her like this. The rings under her eyes grew darker every day, and he wondered if she was getting any sleep at all. She still slept in the tent next to his, and sometimes he’d hear stirring from it late at night. All he wanted to do was take away her pain, but he didn’t know how. Not until today, that is.

Leliana had summoned him. He didn’t know why, only that it was an important matter and needed to be discussed urgently. He had no idea why he, of all people, would be trusted with secret Inquisition business, but he was in no position to judge. He couldn’t refuse Nightingale. He valued his life, after all.

Once he made it to the War Room, he found her sitting quietly at the table, sullen and flipping through endless pages of reports. When she noticed he had arrived, she quickly put the papers down and beckoned him closer.

“Varric. I trust you know that our Herald has not been well lately. After Redcliffe, she…” Leliana speaks, before realizing he’s already well aware of the problem at hand

“I know, Nightingale. Anyone who’s seen her lately has to have noticed. The poor thing looks like she hasn’t slept in days.” He states, matter-of-factly. It was true, though, as the Spymaster was all too happy to point out.

“That’s because she hasn’t. I would see to this myself, but I don’t think I would help. You care for her, that much is plain to see. I… was going to ask you if you were willing to help her.” She explains her reason for summoning him as tactfully as possible. He can’t say that he’s shocked, but still surprised that _he, of all people,_ is being tasked with this.

“I suppose I could. What do I do exactly? Or, what is it that you want me to do?” He asks, making sure he clarifies it with her beforehand. A misunderstanding could be catastrophic, especially given how she cares for Clover like she’s her little sister. Ever since she found out about her family, that is.

“Just talk to her. Allow her to let her emotions out. She needs a shoulder to cry on, Varric. Maker knows how sensitive she is.” It sounded easy enough, with the way she described it. Though he knew it would be a little more complicated than that. Clover was a complex person, and while without a doubt she was sensitive, she was also more guarded than most people knew.

“Alright. I guess I can do that.” He accepts the responsibility. Someone had to do it, and it seemed that no one else was adequate. Or maybe it was because he was closest to her. He was the only one who had a nickname for her, after all.

“Thank you. It will mean a great deal to her. And hopefully, we’ll be able to seal the Breach with the mages’ help once she gets her strength back.” The Spymaster nods, and Varric quickly exits the room. He’s suddenly struck with a strong sense of duty and, without a moment’s hesitation, makes his way to Clover’s usual spot.

\---------------

She sat motionless on the dock, staring up into the Breach. She’d been looking at it quite a lot lately, perplexed by the rippling effect it had on the sky. She had to find something else to concentrate on, so she used her time awake to study the Anchor, or what she could see of it. She hadn’t gotten very far, though, and was about to give up and try to sleep again before she heard Varric’s warm, rough voice calling to her.

“There room for one more on this thing? It looks a little sketchy.” He chuckles, and she swivels at the waist to face him. His smile was there, but just barely. She nodded in answer, scooting to the very edge of the rickety dock before patting the spot beside her. He quickly moved to occupy it, grunting as he sat down.

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re alright. You’re not alright, and that’s okay. I just… I wanted to know if there’s anything I can do to help.” He asks, and for a split second she tears her eyes away from the sky and looks him in the eyes. They’re golden again, warm and kind and full of feeling. Of sorrow, and guilt, and she knows he has more to say.

“I… I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do. The nightmares… I don’t think they’ll ever stop coming.” She sniffles, her hands balling themselves into fists. Without thinking, he reaches a hand over and clasps them in it.

“They will, trust me. It may not be today, or tomorrow, or next month. It may be a year from now. But you’ll be alright. You’re stronger than you know, Clover.” He comforts her with a simple gesture, the warm touch of his calloused hand over hers.

“You’re too good to me, Varric.” She says, and he can see the hint of a smile flickering behind her eyes.

\---------------

The nightmares came again that night. The darkness, tugging her in, growing around her. The demons. Varric’s lifeless eyes. Leliana sacrificing herself. Her own scream pulls her out of the dream and back into the real world. She soon realized she was calling out to someone.

Varric, upon hearing his name shouted in the Herald’s panicked voice, rushes to throw on his duster before barreling out of his tent and into hers. He hesitates for a moment at the entrance before realizing he should announce himself.

“Clover? You called?” He speaks softly, trying not to wake everyone else in Haven. Moments later, she peels the flap open and beckons him inside. Her eyes were apologetic, but the state of her spoke of the severity of the night terrors. Her hair was disheveled, knotted where the tears had soaked in. Her face was red, eyes puffy and brimming with yet more tears. 

He moves to sit by her, making himself comfortable in the minimal space allowed. She had a large collection of furs, though, so it wasn’t all bad. She sat upright, clutching the robe draped loosely around her small frame. 

“I’m sorry, Varric. I… keep seeing your face. In my dreams. They killed you and I… I couldn’t protect you.” She confesses, sobbing softly into the furs. “I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me, Clover. You’re here. _I’m here_. You did the right thing.” He tries, in some small way, to comfort her. He desperately wanted to take away her pain. To tell her everything would be alright, and know that it was the truth. He wanted to give her hope. Before he could say anything else, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head to his chest. Without words, he knew what she needed - to be held. To be comforted by the presence of someone who cares for her. He was bound by a sacred oath to provide whatever she needed, so he did.

“Tell me a story, Varric.” She asks. In that moment, he forgets all the things he might have said. With a single innocent look, all the suave, witty comments were gone from his mind. He was speechless.

“I can do that.” He works through his mental library before finding a suitable tale - of Aveline’s attempts at courting poor Guardsman Donnic. By the time he gets to the part about their beloved Guard-Captain chickening out of drinks at the Hanged Man, her head was comfortably nestled in his lap. Subconsciously, he combed through her hair with his fingers as he told the rest of the story.

It seemed to console her, as she began to chuckle when he mentioned some of the more humorous parts. When the tale came to an end, she sighed deeply, moving her head to look up at him.

“Will you stay? Please?” She asks, and his heart melts into a puddle. He wants to say no - _Maker, he should say no_. But he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to refuse her, not with those tired eyes looking up at him, pleading. They glow back soft and blue in the candlelight, reminding him of lyrium.

“If that’s what you need, Clover. I’ll stay.” He nods, pulling off his duster and folding it neatly in the corner of the tent before slipping under the furs. They talked for a while before she fell asleep, finally able to rest after so many nights spent suffering alone in the dark. Sometime after that, exhaustion overcame him as well. 

He awoke in the early morning, well before her, and noticed that during the night she had rolled over and nestled her face in his chest, looping her arms around his shoulders and pulling herself flush against him. Her breath was soft on his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight - she was so sweet it almost hurt. He held her close, and something in him wanted to stay like this. It felt strangely right, but at the same time he knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t feel the way he did, and yet _he did_. So how could it be wrong?

But none of that mattered. He was just happy he helped her find solace in a world that so often destroyed innocent souls like hers. He was glad that he was able to preserve that part of her. He was happy she was okay.


	9. The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of the Inquisition's new allies, Vel seals the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short but is a prelude to a much longer part so bear with me!

It was intimidating up close - The Breach was so _big_. It seemed like it could swallow up the entire world, given the chance. But Vel couldn’t let it get to her. She had a job to do, and she was determined to do it. She was confident that, with the assistance of the Mages, she could manage it. But otherwise, nothing was certain. That made her uncomfortable.

It was no secret that she was feeling uneasy. The prospect of sealing the Breach was almost impossible to think of, for a non-mage at least. Solas seemed to think it was entirely possible, and as her skill at using the Mark grew, so did his confidence in her abilities. 

Varric was nervous. _Too nervous_. His stomach turned as they made their way back to the ruins of the Temple. They passed the corpses, burnt flesh and singed hair, faces twisted in their last, silent screams. It horrified him - how that would have been him. Could have been Hawke… And the miracle that saved Vel from the destruction of the blast.

The Mages stood ready, waiting for orders from their new commander. Vel had been outfitted in a fresh new suit of leathers and a breastplate emblazoned with the Inquisition crest. She bent her elbows and knees, trying to break them in a little before whatever action they had on the horizon. 

Once they were in position, she did not hesitate. She simply nodded to Cassandra, readying herself for her task. She breathed slow, in and out, thinking of nothing but that. Feeling the ground beneath her feet, the wind in her hair. She pinned back her braids, tucking them up and behind her ears. The Mark buzzed when she was this close to a rift, crackling and burning with an intense energy. It was almost painful, but not quite - it stretched, like pins and needles, up her arm and into her neck. It was like an itch she had to scratch, and she knew just what to do.

When the Mages were in position, she began to close the rift. Her eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the feeling of the energy emanating from her palm. She just had to find the right way to close it up, to pull the edges of the veil together and knit it back up like a tear in the skin. But this rift was not like a flesh wound - it bore deep into the fabric of the fade, like a dagger between the ribs.

She drew on the strength of the Mages as Cassandra shouted orders that she couldn’t hear. She wasn’t listening. She had to get closer. As she made her way to the center of the rift, she could hear the blood pumping in her ears, her vision going blurry as the magic of both the mages and her Mark took her over. She could almost feel the bones rattling underneath her skin. She wondered if this was what magic felt like to everyone.

With the power she drew from the very ends of her being, she felt the edges of the rift begin to come together. They pulled in opposite directions, but she tugged harder. She could feel the magic of the Mark radiate down to her toes, tingling every inch of her body. She thought she might explode - it was either her, or the Breach. She kept pushing.

Varric was scared shitless. The Herald was _glowing_. A green aura surrounded her, not unlike the color of the rift, and shattered as soon as the rift mended itself. They were all thrown off their feet by a blast of air, and when he finally managed to come back to his senses, Cassandra was already running to Vel’s side.

She sat up on her knees, clutching her hand, eyebrows knitted together in what looked like pain. He couldn’t get to her fast enough. She keeled over, groaning in pain. But when he got to her, when she looked up at him, she smiled.

“I did it. I did it!” She laughs, tears in her eyes. Cassandra wraps a strong arm around her shoulders, and Varric supports her on the opposite side, guiding her down the mountain amongst the cheering soldiers and mages. 

“Creators, I thought I would die. But I didn’t. I’m alive. You’re all alive.” She mumbles in disbelief, just outside the gates of Haven. 

“Of course we are. You couldn’t let us down if you tried, Clover.”


	10. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vel faces down the Elder One, and feelings are felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the week or so since the last update but this chapter is really long so I hope it satisfies!!

Vel stood tall, overlooking the festivities that had begun in Haven. The people - _her_ people were celebrating. They were happy. She had done the impossible, healed the skies and calmed the fears of the people of Thedas. But she was uneasy. The air was still, and it was far too quiet.

Varric watched her from afar, as she slipped away from the crowd and made her way to sit on the wall surrounding the village. He felt compelled to follow her and, against his better judgement, he sat beside her.

“You should be celebrating, Clover. You did just save the world, after all.” Varric quirked an eyebrow at her, wondering why she chose to be alone.

“Something doesn’t feel right. I should be, yes, but I… We have so much left to do. What comes next?” She asks, concern in her tone. He wishes he could give her an answer.

“I can’t say. That’s up to Cassandra and the others. We’re just stuck in the middle.” He chuckles softly, wondering to himself what will happen.

“I guess we are. What would you say to a couple drinks? I have questions…”

“As long as you’re paying, I’d be glad to.” Varric’s laugh was quiet and anxious.

In less than a moment, their plans for the night were dashed. They could see the light from many torches, a force climbing down the mountain towards Haven. And they did not appear friendly. Before either of them could react, the bells were ringing and Cullen had sprung into action, commanding his troops.

“Guess those drinks’ll have to wait, huh?” Vel spoke, and for a fraction of a second her upper lip curled into a forced smile. Varric tried to reply, but she pulled him swiftly up and sprinted off towards the gate where Cassandra stood, looking quite frantic. When they reached her, Cassandra didn’t hesitate a moment.

“We must get to the gates!” She drew her sword, beckoning them towards where Cullen was giving orders. All the shouting made Vel nervous - too many humans with swords. She hid it well, but as Cullen gave her a report of the situation, she swallowed hard.

A force blasted at the gate and Vel stood back, nocking an arrow. She didn’t think they would make it to the gates so soon.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” A voice called out from the other side, sounding decidedly non-threatening. She couldn’t risk an innocent being hurt, so against her better judgement, she commanded the soldier on duty to open the gate. As she did, she watched a man fall forward, stabbed in the back by a young man in dirty leathers and a large hat which obscured much of his face.

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you - to help. People are coming to hurt you! You probably already know…” The young man speaks, and Vel steps forward immediately.

“Can you tell me what’s going on, Cole?” She asks, eager to get an answer.

“The Templars come to kill you.” He says. Cullen was clearly upset by this revelation, pointing his sword at the boy. Vel instinctively steps between them.

“ _Templars_? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the Mages? Attacking blindly?” Cullen shouts, just as bewildered as the Herald.

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his Mages.” Cole points over his shoulder at the crest of a hill, and her heart stops. “There.”

“He’s very angry that you took his Mages.” The boy adds as Vel examines the situation. This Elder One… Red Templars? What does it mean? _What’s going on_?

“Cullen? Do we have a plan?” She says, desperate for something - _anything_ concrete. 

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” He says, and with that, Vel’s mind goes into overdrive. Her thoughts race in her head, and all she can do is prevent herself from panicking.

Cullen shouts his orders to his soldiers and the Mages, and Vel turns back towards the boy, nodding to him before making her way to where Cassandra, Varric and Dorian stood, ready for battle. She adjusted her armor slightly, testing the unbroken leather before her fingers flew to the carving nestled in her hip pouch. She thumbed over it gently, for luck, before returning her hands to her bow. 

“Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

\---------------------

A dragon flew overhead. A _dragon_. As Vel ran back to the Chantry, her heart raced. A million questions ran through her head but she couldn’t focus on that now. She needed to protect her people. 

“Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” Cullen was just stating the obvious at this point, and Vel wondered what they would do now.

“I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” Cole said. He was an odd boy, but she had no time to think on such things. If it were truly an Archdemon…

“An Archdemon? You’re joking. Creators…” Her breath catches in her throat, and for a moment she thinks she’ll faint. The arrival of an Archdemon means another Blight is coming. It’s impossible, and yet, impossible things seem to keep happening to her.

“They’ll kill everyone in Haven!” Cullen states, gesturing to the door of the Chantry.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cole says. Vel feels sick. All this destruction, for her? Why does he want _her_? 

“Why does he want me? Do you know?” She asks, her voice louder than she’s used to.

“I don’t. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.” Cole states, matter-of-factly. But her question remained unanswered. Why did he want her? Was it because of the mark?

Cullen explains to her that the only way to control the fight is to bury Haven in an avalanche. Chancellor Roderick mentions a path out, and that’s all Vel needs to hear.

“I’ll do it. Just make sure the people are safe.” She says, pinning her loose braid up onto her head.

“But what of your escape?” Cullen asks, concern in his voice. 

“I survived falling out of the Fade, remember? I’ll figure something out.” She says, with equal parts confidence and fear.

\---------------------

As she aimed the last trebuchet, she heard the dragon’s screech - so close it rang in her ears. She could feel a thrumming in her feet, tingling in her hand, and she looked up to see it swooping in their direction.

“Move. Now!” She shouted, turning back and nearly tripping over Varric as they ran out of the blast of fire - was it fire? She lagged behind and was knocked off her feet by the blast, ears ringing and limbs numb. For a moment, she lay on the hard ground, unable to move. Then, she saw a figure walking through the flames. Quickly rising on shaky legs, she stood her ground against her foe. She would not go down easy. She’d give this bastard the fight of a lifetime.

As he closed in on her, she could see him better - face and body deformed, skin pulled taut over metal and shards of lyrium. _Red_ lyrium. The dragon landed behind her, growling at her back as she was forced closer and closer to this Elder One. 

“Enough! Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken - no more.” The Elder One speaks, and her gut climbs into her throat.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” She shouts, desperate for answers. She needs to know. The guilt is eating away at her, even now.

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are. What I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One - the will that is Corypheus.” He gives her no answer. “ _You will kneel_.”

“I will not!” Vel stands her ground, gripping her bow a little tighter and adjusting her stance. She couldn’t kill him - not alone. But she needed time. Her people needed time.

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not.” He pulls an orb from his robes, glowing green with magical energy. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

The tingling, burning sensation increased. Lightning strikes of pain radiated up her arm and into her core, but she remained standing. She remained strong. As he explains the reason he wants her dead, she shudders and falls to her knees when he releases the magic. 

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!” He growls.

“The Divine is dead! This chaos… Is your doing?” Vel cries out in shock.

“The chaos will empower me, and ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible.” He grips her by the arm, holding her up in the air.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more.”

The Elder one throws her against the side of the trebuchet. Her head smacks violently off the wood, and as she reaches back to feel it, her hand comes away bloody. But she isn’t afraid. She knows what she’s doing. She just needs a little more time. She grips a sword in her hand and stands up, making a desperate attempt to defend herself. She sees the flaming arrow shot into the sky and almost smiles. 

“And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.” He says, and she finally does smile. A wide, unsettling grin, baring her teeth in victory.

“You expect me to fight, but that’s not why I kept you talking. Enjoy your victory, here’s your prize!” She laughs, kicking the mechanism and firing the trebuchet. The boulder sails into the mountain at full speed, setting off a massive avalanche. 

“ _Ghilan’nain, guide me_.” She doesn’t look back. Her feet hardly touch the ground as she flees the chaos and destruction and launches herself into a pit.

\---------------------

She wakes in a cold, dark cave. Her hair had somehow escaped its braid and was fluttered around her, half-buried in powdery snow. The Anchor burned and crackled, and she groaned in pain as she sat up. As she makes her way through the cavern, she can’t help but think about the people. Her people. The ones she couldn’t save. She tried so hard - but they didn’t all make it. 

She remembers her soldiers’ eyes, glossy and staring up at the sky. Innocent men and women, not much older than her, dying for her. Sacrificing themselves for her. All because they thought she was chosen. They truly believed. And it hurt her that she didn’t.

But she had no time to dwell on such things. She fought her way through the caverns as best she could, praying to all the gods she knew for deliverance. She needed it. When she finally made it to the valley, she stopped to retrieve her cloak from her pack and pull it around her shoulders. It was freezing cold, the wind was howling and she could hardly see five feet in front of her. But she was lucky to be alive. She passed a broken cart and a long extinguished fire before coming upon warm embers. She was exhausted but pressed on, desperate to find them again. Her thoughts fell upon Varric - she worried about him. If he was hurt, if he was worrying about her. 

“There, it’s her!” She collapsed into the snow once she heard Cullen’s voice. The last thing she can remember is Cassandra’s arms around her before her vision goes black.

\---------------------

She wakes in a cot, tucked in a warm woolen blanket. She can hear her advisors and Cassandra arguing not far from her, but she isn’t focusing on them. Varric had sat by her as soon as she was brought into camp, tucking her in gently and making sure she was alright.

“Clover. You’re alive.” He sighs as she removes her hand from under the blanket to clasp his forearm. Her skin was warm, her touch calming his fears. He thought she would die.

“I’m not so easily killed. I did fall out of the Fade, if you recall.” Her laugh was soft but full of feeling - relief and happiness, but at the same time sorrow.

“All those people… I couldn’t save them. Creators, I tried, but I was too late…” She gripped his arm tighter, and he clasped his hand around her tiny fist. It was all he could do.

“I know, Clover. I know. But you saved so many. The people here, right now, wouldn’t have lived without you. Myself included.” For once, he was honest. No honeyed words or half-truths.

“We both know you could weasel yourself out of just about anything. Including death.” She tries to smile, but she can only manage a weak, lopsided grin before letting her head fall back onto the pillow.

“You may be right. But I owe you one, Herald.” He chuckles, patting the back of her hand ever-so-slightly. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes - and they both know it.

“You know, my name isn’t Herald. It’s Vel. You can use it if you like.” She rolls onto her side and locks eyes with him, and he curses himself for looking too long. In a single moment, he can feel his whole world shiver and loosen around him, like a deep breath of cold, fresh air into a new pair of lungs.

“I… _Vel_.” Her name rolls off his tongue as he tries it out. It’s almost poetic, but the sound of it fits her perfectly. “I think I will.”

“Good.” She smiles, the glittering green energy of the mark flickering in her eyes.

Varric watches over her as she sleeps, ensuring her complete and total safety before he drifts off beside her, slumped against her cot. Later, Dorian comes across the sight and smiles fondly to himself before closing the flap of the tent to give them a little privacy. It was unlikely, sure, but in times like these you take whatever comfort you can find and hold onto it. He was happy that Vel finally found hers.


	11. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after the Inquisition arrives at Skyhold, and Vel is completely exhausted. However, she meets an unexpected ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving writing these longer chapters. And I'm happy that I'm getting into the actual romantic content now! :)

Vel was beyond tired. She hadn’t slept since Haven - she had been too busy making Skyhold safe for the Inquisition and helping the healers with the wounded to think of her own needs. She herself was wounded, battered and bruised from her fight against the Elder One and his Red Templars, though not as badly as some. It was just a matter of time until they died of their injuries, but she tried to make their passing as easy and comfortable as possible. She came upon Cole, soon after they arrived, tending to the wounded beside her, speaking softly to them. She couldn’t understand what he was telling them, but it seemed to calm them, so she didn’t ask.

When she was finally done for the day, she searched for a place to wash her hands. The blood and elfroot would surely stain if left too long, and the smell was starting to nauseate her. She found her way to her new quarters, where a steaming bath and some towels were left for her to wash up with. She reminded herself to thank Josephine _profusely_ after she was done.

As she wiped away the blood and grime and residue, she began to cry. Out of what, she didn’t know - exhaustion, sorrow, or anger, possibly all three. She hadn’t been able to sleep. The nightmares were unending. The only thing that helped was Varric. His voice calmed her, lulled her into a dreamless, restful sleep until she woke again, sitting bolt upright in bed, crying out for him. And he was always there, a solid support to lean against and a shoulder to cry on. As she bent over to wash out her hair, she thought of him - the warmth of his arms around her, holding her as she shook.

The bathwater was tinted a mixture of red, brown and green by the time she was clean. Her eyelids were threatening to shut on her, and they drooped as she slid a loose, un-laundered blouse over her shoulders and fastened it at her waist. She left the majority of the buttons undone, as she was only going to the kitchen to fetch her dinner. As she was making her way through the hall, she thought she caught a note of Varric’s voice. She decided to follow it, out onto the battlements, before stopping dead in her tracks.

“Inquisitor. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” A man, who she immediately recognized as Hawke, stood beside Varric. He was taller than she’d anticipated.

“Hawke. I’ve heard so much about you.” She was almost starstruck. This was the man behind the Champion. She was excited to get to know him better, and hopefully he had some information that would benefit the Inquisition.

“I’m sure you have. Varric never was one to keep his mouth shut.” Hawke laughs heartily, clapping Varric on the shoulder with practiced ease. “He’s told me about you, too. He thinks a great deal of you, Inquisitor.”

“Flatterer!” Vel smirks playfully, shaking her hair in hopes of making it dry faster. It was curling up in the crisp air, and she nudged a curl out of her face before speaking. “You said you had information for me, Hawke?”

\--------------------------------------

After their conversation on the battlements, Vel’s stomach was growling and she wasn’t much closer to an answer. Just more leads. But she couldn’t complain - any information was necessary if they were to beat this Elder One. Corypheus. 

She finally retrieved her dinner from the kitchen and went to sit on the battlements facing the road to enjoy her meal. It was quieter there in the evening, and the view was unparalleled, so she sat crosslegged on the cold stone and sipped on her bowl of soup, watching the sunset glitter off the snowy mountaintops. It was a beautiful sight, after so much death and destruction. For a moment, she felt she could just fly away from it all and never look back. But before long, she returned to reality, and was just as troubled as before.

But again, like before, she could hear Varric’s voice drifting through the breeze. As it turns out, he had brought Cole up on the battlements, to get away from the noise and activity below. She couldn’t overhear very much, but she heard Cole’s voice clearly, almost in the back of her mind.

“She watched you die for her. Her hurt is very loud. She doesn’t know you’d do it again. You want to protect _her_.”

For a moment, she was confused. She didn’t understand how Cole knew what she thought about. But, as she replayed it in her mind, she realized he must have known what Varric thought about too. It was a little unsettling, but she didn’t think much of it. Stranger things have happened in the Inquisition’s wake - one more impossible thing wouldn’t topple the world. She gnawed on her bread as she sat, pensive, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation and having no success, before Varric spotted her from the other side of the tower.

“Clover? You’re still up here?” He shouted, trying to make his way through the rubble to the side Vel was on.

“I couldn’t help myself. The mountains are so pretty in the evening, and I…” She paused, tearing a corner off her loaf of bread and offering it to him. “I brought my dinner up.”

He took the bread, mumbling a thank you before popping it in his mouth. He hadn’t had a proper meal in days, and like Vel, hadn’t slept well either. The entire Inquisition was running on faith alone, and it was taxing. But he wouldn’t let her see. He had to be strong, for her sake.

“They are, aren’t they? Beautiful, I mean.” He spoke quietly, but he was hardly looking at the landscape. He stole glances at her, always averting his eyes before they met hers. He couldn’t help being transfixed by her. How could a person have eyes so blue? How could she be as strong as she is, as little as she is? The amount of respect she commanded as Inquisitor would be baffling to most, but to Varric, it was easy to understand. She was unique, an anomaly. A _miracle_. People wanted to believe in her. She was easy to believe in. And Varric felt his skepticism fading each and every day.

“Will you stay with me tonight? Please?” She asks, knowing she’s in for another night of fitful sleep and tears.

“You don’t have to ask, Clover. Of course I’ll stay. You do make it hard to leave, you know. I’ve never had such an enthusiastic audience.” He chuckles to himself, raising onto his feet and taking her hand in his. His skin prickled unexpectedly, and he realized he wasn’t wearing his leather gloves. He wasn’t aware he’d taken them off.

He hadn’t known how delicate her touch was before then, how hesitantly her skin touched his and then peeled away, almost afraid to stay for too long. But he allowed her to linger for as long as she wished, savoring the way her soft fingers tickled the hair on the back of his hand. She had a little constellation of freckles on her wrist, and he wondered what pattern it would make if he connected them. He wondered if she had freckles all over. But he quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

He felt like a teenager again. It was strange, but not unwelcome. It started with respect, then understanding that turned to compassion, caring, and then…

“ _Clover. Soft, saccharine, scintillating. Striking you to the core. Shouldn’t feel like this, but you do anyway. Deft fingers prickle your skin, but not like before. Her laugh like a Chantry choir. How do I put it to words_?” Cole speaks, almost inaudibly. He startles Varric, who jumps slightly before frowning.

“Kid! What did I tell you about sneaking up on people? We can remember you now. You could always just walk up and say hello.” He says, putting what Cole just said out of his mind. It was true, though. Every word. He shot a quick glance over to Vel, who didn’t seem to notice what had just been said.

But she did. She absolutely noticed. A blush crept onto her cheeks, but she chalked it up to the cold mountain air. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

But he did. He has a storyteller’s eyes, after all. And he wouldn’t miss the Inquisitor blushing for all the world. He noted the exact shade of pink she turned - how the very tips of her ears went red with the rest of her face. He would use this later, of course.

“See you in the morning, Kid.” He smirked, returning to Vel’s side and walking her up to her quarters. They’d spent many nights together since the events at Redcliffe - he’d hold her until she fell asleep, then drift off himself. But after Haven, she needed him more than ever. She’d wake screaming, sobbing inconsolably into her hands. He held her close as the sobs racked her body, and dried her tears and tucked her back in when she was spent. He would read to her when she couldn’t fall asleep - sometimes, from his own books. Once in a while, from another’s. And occasionally, he would come up with a tale on the spot. They were usually outrageous, but she didn’t mind. The taller the tale, the better.

Tonight was different. They were both too exhausted for any kind of ceremony, so they quickly dressed for bed and snuggled in under the furs. There was a surprising amount of space in the bed, which Vel was unaccustomed to. She was used to aravels and tents, but that’s not to say she didn’t like it. She rolled over to face Varric, already nodding off as she nestled her head in the crook of his neck, loosely draping an arm and leg over him while he lay flat on his back. She smiled up at him with tired eyes, offering a silent "Thank you" before she drifted into a dream.


	12. The Forbidden Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vel and her companions travel to the Forbidden Oasis. On their way, they meet a group of Venatori unexpectedly and she and Varric get even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until the Winter Palace, the chapters are gonna be a little shorter and focus mainly on Cole's explanations of their thoughts.

Vel liked to travel. Not necessarily on foot, but she enjoyed exploring new areas. The others, however, were not fans. They’d been riding for days, trying to reach the Oasis. Varric had been complaining for hours about the sand in his boots. Cassandra had sand in the joints of her armor, and Cole had sand in his hair. Vel couldn’t stand one more minute of it.

“Yes, I know! You all have sand everywhere. Let’s just find somewhere to make camp, alright?” She throws her leg over the side of her horse, plopping down into the sand with a grunt. It was getting late, and the wind was picking up - the desert was starting to cool down. She pulled the scarf tighter around her head and began to set up the tents.

Once her work was done, she could relax. She watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, a magnificent, orange glow lingering after. Soon the moons rose and bathed the dunes in a soft, greenish-blue glow. The fire crackled and popped next to her as she sketched. Her fingers were covered in charcoal dust and ink when she finished, but out of her hard work came a strikingly accurate(despite the lighting) portrait of Cole.

She sighed deeply before getting up, setting off to find where the boy went to give him his gift, leaving her pack and weapons behind. As it happens, he’d found his way to sit by some ruins. He was still, and very quiet. As she approached, he turned to look at her. Varric popped his head up, having sat beside him but out of sight. 

“What are you two doing out here? It’s dangerous!” She chastised, finding a seat on the polished stone floor after she dusted the sand off. She removed the rolled up parchment from her pocket and handed it to Cole. He took hold of it, very gingerly, almost as if he didn’t know what to do with it. He unrolled it, slowly, before tilting his head to get a better look.

“He looks like me. I like his hat!” He smiles to himself, before outstretching his hand, thinking to return it to her.

“It’s a gift, Cole. You can keep it if you like.” Vel nods to him, and he stuffs it gently under his hat.

“It’s a great likeness, Clover. Never knew you were an artist.” Varric chuckles, raising an eyebrow at her. There was a lot he didn’t know, apparently.

“I’m not, really. It’s just a hobby.” She murmurs to herself, before stretching her legs out before her and tracing the inscriptions on the stone. She could tell they were elven, but she wasn’t taught how to read the language. But she reached out to touch them anyway, wondering what the words said.

“ _Wisteria in the spring, blooming and blowing in the breeze, sweet scent carries across Hightown. Petals drift into your hands, covering the callouses_ … She reminds you of home. Why don’t you tell her?” Cole mutters, facing Varric and cocking his head to the side in question. 

“KId, would you mind not hanging around in my head? That stuff’s private.” Varric says, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Little does Vel know, it’s more like embarrasment. 

“You should see what she thinks of you.” Cole’s innocent eyes looked over at Vel, and she instantly knew he knew. It was a whole new kind of fear.

“I- what?” Vel’s eyes go wide and her jaw drops, her face turning red before Cole even starts talking.

“ _Skin prickles from a clap on the shoulder. Voice vibrates the Veil, wrapping it around him. Storyteller_. The spirits like to listen to you. So does she.” He talked almost absent-minded, like he was hardly focusing on his words.

“I… um, I can explain.” Vel seizes up for a moment, her gut telling her something isn’t quite right. She tries to look behind her but before she can, she notices Varric’s hand resting on Bianca, knuckles white. Her hand goes to her back before realizing she left her bow at camp. She curses herself silently, unsheathing her knife from her belt before pulling herself up into a crouch. Without words, Varric and Cole fell into a triangle formation as they made their way around the stone pillar blocking their view. She could feel her pulse hammering in her ears as they engaged the force - a small group of Venatori.

She flew into combat, her well-sharpened blade cutting through her enemies with ease. It was when she got to the mage, however, that things went sour. He threw an unexpected spell at her, and she ended up on her back - completely vulnerable. He held his staff above her throat, ready to bash her head in. She could only watch in horror, paralyzed. Before he could plunge his staff’s blade into her body, an arrow soared through the air and embedded itself in the mage’s throat, splattering blood across her face and body and the sand around her.

The smell and metallic taste of blood flooded her senses. She wiped off her eyes and looked up to see Varric standing over her, hand outstretched to help her to her feet.

“That was a close call there, Clover. You alright?” The concern in his voice was palpable. She took his hand gently, stumbling to her feet, still partially blinded by the blood in her eyes.

“Yeah. We’re even now, huh? You saved _my_ life this time.” Her laugh was breathy and honest, a testament to her relief.

“I suppose.” Varric grins in response, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt he’d always be in her debt.


	13. Somniari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vel learns something new about herself concerning her nightmares and their cause.

Cole was a strange boy. Nonetheless, Vel felt drawn to him - connected, in a way. At times, when her duties overwhelmed her, she’d spend a few hours with him in the courtyard, just talking. Or rather, he’d listen to her talk. He didn’t mind listening. It’s what helped her, what healed her hurt, and it was his purpose to help. But today, he spoke back to her.

“Why did you doubt your name? _Velahris. A never-ending song for a wanderer_. It was meant for you.” He muttered, his voice barely a whisper, but Vel heard him clearly.

“My name? I suppose I still do. My Keeper always told me I was destined for great things, but I never believed her. I guess I must look foolish now.” She sighs, mourning the life she left behind for less than a moment before Cole speaks again.

“Yes. You were fated to have it. Like ‘Inquisitor’, only softer. More like caring. It’s written in your blood. You’re compassion, like me!” He says, twiddling his thumbs in his lap, looking up from under his hat at her. He was a sweet thing - all awkward gestures and lopsided smiles. She had begun to care for him a great deal, like a brother. Like the little brother she lost.

“The name fits just right now. _A title that’s a shield that’s a song, singing the chant like you’ve known it all your life_. Sword in hand, looking down on your people… _I have to protect them_. Don’t worry. You will.” His voice was calm and sure as he rested his hand on her arm.

“You remind me of someone, you know. Of my little brother, ‘Thelan. You don’t look like him though.” She mentions, racking her mind for the name.

“ _Ashara_. Your mother. You think I have her hair. And her eyes too… Is that bad?” His tone softened, almost sorrowful. She thought for a moment, then lifted the brim of his hat away from his face. In a second, she was transported back to her childhood - her mother’s blonde hair, hanging down across her eyes in long, pale wisps. She recalled how soft it was, gossamer-fine and the color of unspun flax. Her mother, too, shared her eyes - large and clear, bright blue. As she studied Cole’s features, she could almost discern her mother’s face.

“I… No. It’s alright.” Vel murmurs, 

“I’m sorry. I should have made it better, but I didn’t…” He shies away from her before she reaches a hand out to stop him. As her hand meets his shoulder, he shivers. His eyes widen, as if he’s seen something very, _very_ peculiar.

“The Fade shimmers around you. Flickering light, like silhouetted birds flying under the sun. It’s very strange.” Cole tilts his hat back, before noting her eyes, which were sunken and dark from lack of sleep. “You should talk to Solas. He can help you.”

\---------------------

Before long, Vel was reclining comfortably in the rotunda, surrounded by a gaggle of mages. She didn’t anticipate Solas’ reaction to her confession about the peculiar dreams she’d been having - shock, and an instant request to study her. Word spread fast about the Inquisitor’s ailment, and Dorian and Vivienne quickly offered to lend themselves to the cause. Now, she was being fretted over by half the Inquisition.

“That’s impossible. She’s not a mage!” Dorian shouts, flipping through an ancient text, stopping periodically to blow dust off the pages.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss this simply because it has never happened before.” Vivienne stood anxiously by the door, sending several apprentices out to fetch various items from a very long list.

“Impossible things seem to favor you, do they not, lethallan?” Solas looked up at Vel from the book he’d been poring over, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I almost wish they didn’t. But Dorian’s right - I’m not a mage. I can’t control this. I don’t know how.” Vel huffs, relaxing back into the plush sofa, closing her eyes momentarily.

“We can teach you. It will take work, certainly, but we’ll manage. _You’ll_ manage.” Dorian spoke with a familiar confidence, and Vel felt almost like a clueless child.

“You can control it. You only need training.” Vivienne’s voice was comforting, calming her anxious nerves.

The door opened with a creak, revealing a stout dwarf carrying a tea tray. She sat up in the chair, a smile blooming on her face as Varric draws closer and she realizes the tray is piled high with small cakes.

“How’re you feeling, Clover?” He asks as he sets a small plate down in front of her, a concerned look on his face.

“Much better, now that I have cake!” She chuckles enthusiastically, taking the miniature fork from the tray and having her first bite of the cake. It was moist and slightly spiced, the perfect treat. “Thank you, Varric. I appreciate it.”

“And what about you, Chuckles? Have you figured anything out yet?” He turns to face Solas, eager for an answer. Solas hesitates a moment before delivering the news.

“It seems the Inquisitor has a unique ability to connect to and warp the Fade, although she is not a mage. Her nightmares are a consequence of this connection. It will take practice, but in time she will learn to control her abilities. For now, she needs our protection.” Solas explains the situation thoroughly. Vel chewed on the inside of her lip, a nervous reaction to her newfound magical abilities. It worried her, probably too much.

“Well… Shit. You’re okay though, right?” He asks, the worry in his voice palpable.

“Don’t worry, Varric. I’m fine. And hopefully I’ll be able to sleep soon so I won’t have to bother you any longer.” She laughs a little, trying to defuse the anxiety in the room.

“It’s no bother, Clover. You know that. Besides, I’ve got a new chapter for you to look over later.” Varric gesturs to the stack of papers in his hand, which he’d brought with him.

“Over drinks, I hope?” She smiles genuinely, and all his uneasy thoughts melt away.

“Always.”


	14. Wicked Eyes And Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vel enjoys the Winter Palace a great deal, especially when she gets her favorite dwarf to dance with her.

Vel looked so natural at court that it was almost unsettling. The way she could change her personality to suit her surroundings was damned impressive to Varric. He watched her drift through the crowd, mingling with nobles and servants alike. Every single person in the room turned to watch her, murmuring amongst themselves, gossiping about the Inquisitor. But she knew, they all knew, the ball would have been absolutely listless without her.

Her dress was what caught Varric’s eye, though. It was sheer blue silk, dark like a stormy sea. The gown was constructed in such a way that it shimmered when the light hit it. Her shoulders were draped in golden branches that crawled, like a living creature, to her chin - he imagined that was what was keeping her head angled upwards. The sleeves were long and cinched at the wrist and upper arm, but billowed out elsewhere. It suited her, he thought. But the crowning jewel was her hair - left long but tucked back behind her curved ears, which were adorned with small gold cuffs encrusted with jewels.

Josephine, Leliana and Vivienne had fawned over the Inquisitor for weeks, trying to get the outfit just right - and it seems as though they’d succeeded. But he suspected the ears were her own choice. She always was unapologetic about her heritage, and Varric admired her for it. It would make sense for her to show it off.

Watching her dance was an entirely different game. The effortlessness with which she moved through the steps was mystifying. It would appear to the untrained eye that she’d known the dances all her life, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. Varric had watched her in the courtyard, her hands held up, trying to master each stance. It was miraculous how quickly she got the hang of it, and watching her now he can hardly remember how awkward her movements were at first. Now, every turn, every step, every flick of the wrist or nod of the head is deliberate. It is a word, or a phrase, silent but still there. He’s so busy watching her, he hardly notices the dancing is done.

“Enjoying the party, Varric?” Even her voice is different here. The Dalish lilt that he so enjoyed was quieter, but somehow more confident. Everything about her, right down to the smallest detail, the most insignificant behavior, was calculated and curated to exude strength.

“Oh, of course, Clover. I get the feeling it wouldn’t be much of a party without you here, though. Did you see the way all those nobles were staring at you?” Varric smirks, savoring the memory of the shocked Orlesian lords and ladies as Vel waltzed into the ballroom; bare feet, ears and vallaslin on prominent display.

“I must be the most exciting thing they’ve seen in months, if not years.” She chuckles, softer than usual. She was quieter here - she let her appearance speak for her, and it clearly did.

“I’d bet it’s more scandalous than exciting. Those ear cuffs were your choice, right?” Varric asks, and she nods in affirmation, gesturing to where Josephine and Vivienne stood, mingling. She clearly overruled them on that one small decision.

“As long as they’re paying attention to me, I don’t care what they think. I just need them to listen. So, what do you say we go and give them something to gossip about?” Vel whispers, outstretching her small hand to him. He could hardly believe what he’d just witnessed.

“My dancing days are long gone, Clover. I don’t even know the steps.” He says, a confused smile blooming on his face.

“It’s either you or Cullen, and I’d rather not be thrown across the room like a ragdoll.” She curls her fingers upwards, beckoning him with calf eyes, beaming as he finally relents and takes her hand in his.

“Clover, you _know_ I can’t resist those sad puppy eyes. You’re evil, you know.” Varric’s voice trickled off into silence.  
“Why am I not surprised?” She smiles knowingly, leading him through the ballroom and out onto the crowded dance floor.

Varric could hardly think straight. His whole body was humming as she took his hand and placed it on her waist. He could feel her, strong and steady, warm beneath his fingers. She gripped his other hand tightly and lifted it up, using her empty hand to lift up her swirling skirts.  
“Like I said, I don’t know the-” Varric whispers, before being suddenly cut off by Vel.

“Just follow my lead. You’ll do fine!” She chuckles softly, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips, before she closes her eyes and begins the dance.

Her movements were graceful and fluid, leading him through the steps. After a few passes he got the hang of it and was able to adapt his footwork accordingly. His eyes hardly left her face throughout the twists and turns of the dance - it was surprisingly intricate, requiring expert concentration to keep his timing. It had been many years since he’d danced, let alone at court, and he was certainly out of practice. But Vel seemed at home with the music and the movement. She leaned over, almost unnoticeably, to whisper something in his ear.

“I hear there’ll be a party in the servant’s quarters later. If you’ve a mind to really dance, you should come.” She murmurs, pulling away with a wide smile. Her voice, barely a whisper, left goosebumps trailing down Varric’s skin. 

“I’ll consider it.” He doesn’t want to appear too eager, but _Maker, she’s beautiful_.

As they drew to the end of the dance, she pulled him closer - instinctively, he rested his hand on her back and found bare, cool skin. It was impossibly soft, and he could feel her shiver under his fingers.

“Sorry. Tickles.” She mutters, hoping he doesn’t notice her blush. But he does - and he savors the sweet, pink flush. It was a stark contrast against her pale freckles and… _Andraste’s ass, her eyes_. She was staring, wide-eyed and expectant. Candlelight flickered against her skin, shimmering back in a million golden hues. Her lips were blush-pink and hung open ever so slightly, begging to be kissed. But he couldn’t. _Not here. Not now._

“I could go for a drink. You?” Varric pulled away gently as the music faded, hesitantly letting go of her gold-painted hand. He took a moment to marvel at how soft she was - her skin, yes, but also her heart. Her very soul. She was nothing like Bianca. _Nothing like Bianca…_

“I’m dying of thirst. If you can find something a little stronger than punch, I’d be in your debt.” Vel retreats toward Josephine, calling out from the balcony. “I’ve done my duty. Now it’s time to have a little fun, eh?”

\-------------------

“You and Varric? Truly?” Josphine almost squeals, but Vel hushes her before she can alert the entire court. They were both quite tipsy by that point though, so there wasn’t much use in silencing her.

“Shh, Josie! I don’t want the whole world to know!” Vel moves closer to Josephine so she doesn’t have to shout, but she does nonetheless.

“Oh, this is so _romantic!_ Tell me everything!” Josephine shrieks, sneaking in close to Vel and sipping on a nearly empty glass of wine.

“There’s not much to tell. I suppose I just know how I feel. Nothing else.” Vel mutters, her voice barely audible over the commotion of the party.

“I’m sure he feels the same way! I don’t think there’s a single soul who didn’t see the two of you dancing. It was so exciting!” Josie mentions, and Vel finds herself embarrassed yet again. She didn’t think anyone would notice _that._

“Creators, Josie, I just…” Vel whines playfully, the blush still present on her cheeks as Varric returns with her drink. It was a small glass, filled to the brim with an amber colored liquid she assumed to be brandy. She was correct. It was cool and smoky, with a crisp bite to it - her throat burned pleasantly as she swallowed.

“Where did you find this, Varric? I didn’t think they could handle strong liquor in Orlais.” Vel giggled quietly, humming away the sting of the alcohol.

“They really pulled out all the stops tonight, literally. There’s more than a few lords passed out in the courtyard.” Varric leans against the bannister, sipping on his own glass of wine to calm his nerves. It had definitely been a while. _Too long._

“Speaking of which, I’ve got an invitation to the afterparty. I promise it’ll be fun!” Vel rose to her feet, outstretching her hand yet again. Varric couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

And so, yet again, he found himself at the mercy of lady Lavellan. He couldn’t help but clap along with the music as she found her place with the other elves, borrowing the sash from his uniform to tie up her dress. Though she was stunning in front of the court, behind the facade… She danced with reckless abandon, tapping her feet to the beat of the drums and the shrill notes of the flute. As she made her way towards Varric, she smiled from ear to ear. He didn’t think for a second before letting her pull him out of his chair and into the bustling crowd, yet again. It was hazy and cramped and hot, but it was definitely more his style. He could see that she was more comfortable too, finally able to relax after the night’s events.

The dance had no steps, only a rhythm to follow - and they did, a whirlwind of Vel’s spinning skirts and Varric’s hair coming undone. When the night drew to a close and all went quiet, they retired to a secluded spot in the courtyard, next to a trellis of climbing yellow roses. 

“I didn’t know you could dance, Varric. I’m impressed.” Vel smirks, untying the last pieces of her disheveled hair to fall around her face. It was spectacularly red, even moreso in the bright moonlight.

“I can, I just choose not to. But the goal was to leave an impression, so I guess I succeeded.” Varric stated, taking a long sip from his glass, finishing the last of his wine.

“I suppose you expect a prize, then?” Vel suddenly goes silent, her breathing deep and slow. Her hands folded into each other and she chewed on her bottom lip. _Maker…_

“Would be nice, but I don’t-”

The kiss was sudden, but not unexpected. She tasted like cinammon and sugar, with just a hint of the brandy she’d drank three glasses of. Her lips were remarkably soft against his, even moreso as they drifted across his cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. In a moment of realization, Vel pulled back, almost shocked with what she’d just done.

“I… I’m so sorry! Creators, what was I thinking?” She turns to leave but falters when she feels Varric’s hand clasp her arm, pulling her back towards him.

“Clover, I… _Vel._ it’s alright. You’re alright. Better than alright.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her jaw, up to the delicate freckled skin of her cheek. She leaned into his touch, savoring every second of contact she could get.

“You called me Vel. You never call me Vel.” Her eyes widened with confusion and wanting, but he couldn’t tell which there was more of. He decided it was likely the latter.

“I thought now was as good a time as any to start.” Her hand had found a way into his hair, caressing with the gentlest fingers. Her touch was no longer hesitant, but still tender and forgiving. She dropped her hand down onto his face, slowly mapping out his features - the scars, breaks and bruises. The prickly five-’o-clock shadow peppered with grey, barely there laugh lines. It was as if she were committing him to memory.

“You look good with your hair down.” Vel murmurs, snuggling in closer. She reminded herself to thank Josephine later - the uniform robes were comfortably soft.

“And you look good in a dress. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. You’re… beautiful.” Varric didn’t hesitate, pulling her in as close as humanly(dwarvenly?) possible.

“So… this really happened, didn’t it?” Vel’s breathy chuckle tickled his skin.

“I think so. Not really sure myself. We might have to do it again, just to be certain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! The ship finally sets sail! I just thought I'd quickly mention here that I have a dragon age tumblr where I post stuff about all my OC's, including Vel! It's @lyrium-lavellan, and you can find it here! https://lyrium-lavellan.tumblr.com/


	15. Quiet Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after at the Winter Palace. Vel receives some unexpected news from Cole, and reunites with Varric after the previous night's events.

Vel woke with a mild headache. It throbbed dully as she sat at the vanity, studying herself in the mirror. She smiled to herself as she remembered the events of the night before, her thoughts lingering fondly on the moment she shared with Varric in the garden. The _kiss_ in the garden.

Varric was nowhere to be found, however. He had walked her to her room, then returned to his - not wishing to be caught slipping into the Inquisitor’s bedroom by a rumor-mongering servant or wandering noblewoman. Not for his sake, but for hers. She was already looked upon unfavorably by the world - he didn’t want to make it any harder for her.

She slipped on a long dressing gown and peeked her head outside her door. Servants quietly talked amongst themselves, passing with breakfast trays in tow. The scent of bacon made her mouth water as she found her way to the dining room. It was quite large, and seated at the head of the table was Josephine, nursing a tall glass of water. Cullen and Leliana were sat at either side of her, while Cole and Cassandra sat across from each other at the opposite end of the table. Varric was nowhere to be found.

“Good morning, Inquisitor. I trust you slept well.” Cullen spoke quietly, not wishing to disturb anyone who may still be sleeping. “Breakfast is on its way.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” Vel slides into the seat next to Cole, patting his hand in a silent greeting. “What’s on the itinerary for today, Josephine?”

“Quite a lot, I’m afraid. There are still several nobles clamoring to meet you, another fitting with Lady Vivienne’s tailor, more meetings with foreign dignitaries, and you’re to have your portrait painted this afternoon.” Josephine says, absentmindedly running down the list in her head. Vel’s schedule had been packed since she arrived at the Winter Palace - she still had much to do, even after foiling Florianne’s plan and defeating Corypheus yet again.

The first order of business, however, was breakfast. It took all her might to not scoff down the delectable Orlesian cakes and pastries laid out on the table. She tried to make her delicate eating look effortless, but Cullen still chuckled at the sight.

“Is something funny, Cullen?” Vel smirks, purposefully smearing frosting and powdered sugar across her cheeks. He only laughed harder, trying his best not to spark Cassandra’s ire. She appeared to be in a bad mood this morning, and _nobody_ wanted to poke that bear.

“Nothing at all, Inquisitor.” Cullen grinned, pleased with Vel’s newfound humor.

“Creators, Cullen. You can call me by my name. You do _know_ my name, right?” Vel mumbles, a mouthful of bread muffling her words.

“I… I’m afraid not, Inquisitor- Ah, Lavellan. It _is_ Lavellan, right?” Cullen asks, as if he isn’t quite sure he’s correct. Cassandra grumbles from across the table, and Josephine remains with her head in her logbook.

“I mean _my_ name. Vel. You can use it, if you like.” Vel extends a peace offering in the form of a warm, wholehearted smile - the first time she’s ever smiled at Cullen. At any Templar. Since...

“He cried when the Templars took him. He still hears your screams, when the nights are quiet. He misses you very much.” Cole mutters under his breath, so quiet it hardly seems like he spoke at all. But Vel heard him clearly, as did everyone else at the table.

“Cole, that’s… do you… How do you know?” Vel quickly forgets about her breakfast, dropping the pastry from her sticky hands. She can see Josephine straighten uncomfortably in her seat. Cassandra raises her head, a look of pity on her face.

“His hurt touches yours. It’s all tangled up. But so is his happiness - he remembers your smile. He remembers _you_.” His voice was punctuated with feeling, a break from his usual melancholy tone. 

“He’s… alive? Do you know where he is? Cole, please!” Vel’s facade comes down, blue eyes brimming with tears as she cups Cole’s cheeks. “I need to know!”

“Close. Not here, but… That way, I think.” Cole pivots in his seat and points. The intricately carved chair clatters against the ground as Vel stands.

“Josephine, would you be willing to investigate this further? I have to dress for that meeting.” Vel says, her voice faltering as she leaves the room.

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

\--------------

Vel was still on edge after she left the meeting. The nobles were so shocked that she was an elf, they spent the entire time ogling her ears. She expected nothing less, however. She was somewhat of an anomaly here - a powerful, charming elf, who stunned the Imperial court into submission. She was certainly something to gawk at.

As she made her way to her last engagement of the day, her thoughts fell upon Varric. She hadn’t seen him since last night, and a distinct nervousness pervaded her already troubled mind. The kiss had been sudden and ill-considered, a heat of the moment decision to act on feelings she wasn’t sure were reciprocated. The liquor made her bold, but now she was entirely powerless. 

She felt considerably awkward as she posed on the chaise, watching the painter sketch an outline of her form on his canvas. Another day, another dress - and this one was even more lavish than the last. The gown was made out of a thicker silk, though it was the same vibrant blue as her ballgown. The neckline was straight and the sleeves started just below her shoulders, imitating Josephine’s ridiculously puffy sleeves. The waist was cinched in tight, and the skirt billowed out like a large bell - supported by what felt like a hundred layers of petticoat underneath it. Though it was remarkably hard to move in, Vel was determined to make an impression on the court by whatever means necessary. If it meant sitting for hours in a dress that was structured like a birdcage to have her likeness painted, so be it.

Vel let her mind wander as she watched the artist work. She couldn’t help but settle on last night again, not like there was much else to think about. Her mind reeled as she played through the moments in her head - the way his stubble scratched against her cheek, the warmth and softness of his lips against hers. She didn’t know why she felt the way she did, and it scared her. She’d never felt this strongly about anyone before, let alone a close and valued friend. She was terrified she would mess it up.

But thankfully, she didn’t. Varric strode into the room, his posture a little more confident than she’d noticed before. He wore a smile on his face with pride. _This is all her doing,_ he thought. He observed her form with a slight chuckle, as she was sitting so rigidly he thought she might get up and rip her corset off at any moment.

“Afternoon, Clover. Enjoying your day so far?” Varric peeks over the painter’s shoulder at his work. He marveled at the partially finished sketch, how it captured the intensity behind Vel’s eyes, the delicate slope of her nose and soft edge of her jaw, the plump pout of her lips. She smiles at the sight of him, her lips curling in ever so slightly. She seemed to be relieved.

“I suppose I am. How does it look? I feel like I’ve been sitting here for hours…” Vel tilts her head, fiddling with the neckline of her gown.

“It’s a good likeness.” He reassures her, winking.

“I’m sure. I need a break, though. I can hardly breathe in this dress.” Vel murmurs, struggling to get out of the chaise before outstretching her hand to Varric. “Walk with me? I need to get away for a little while.”

\--------------

Vel had been consumed with the need for a few moments of self-indulgence that day. As Inquisitor, she exists to benefit others - to protect, and serve, and possibly die for them. Once in a while, she’s obligated to treat herself. So when Varric offers a few moments to themselves and a bottle of expensive Antivan wine in a quiet alcove, she can’t bring herself to refuse.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming. Like none of this is real, and someday I’ll wake up and be back with my clan.” Vel speaks softly, scared that someone might hear her even though the alcove they picked is far off the beaten path. Her eyes can’t focus on any one thing, flitting from the flowers climbing beside her, to Varric, and the gravel path beneath her bare feet. “But… _This_ is real. This feels real.”

“I know. It’s… been a long time for me. I’m out of practice.” He confesses, leaning back to find a comfortable spot on the bench. 

“Don’t worry - I haven’t had much practice at all. With men at least. I’m very particular, you know.” Vel mentioned the fact with no shame or embarrassment. She’d told the stories of her past conquests in his presence, and she was reasonably sure he paid attention.

“Oh? I’m flattered that I meet your exacting standards!” Varric quips, smirking as he rests a hand on her exposed collarbone, finding the freckled skin cool and soft under his fingers. She shivered at the contact again, and it seemed as though she still wasn’t used to it.

“Of course! The most handsome dwarf in Thedas, and by all accounts the cleverest too. How could you not?” Vel sighs, letting her head lull against her shoulder. 

“Be careful, Clover. With all these compliments, I may just blush.”

“Varric Tethras? Blushing? Creators, the world really is coming to an end!”

“Andraste’s ass. You _are_ evil!” Varric grumbles playfully, eliciting a hearty laugh from Vel. Their second kiss was something entirely different - thoughtful, tender, and kind. Neither wanted to be the first to pull away. 

They were forced to part, however, as Cole had stumbled into the alcove.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell.” He spoke, tired eyes half-lidded. 

“Tell what, Cole?” Vel asks. He hadn’t… _Oh_.

“You’ve changed him. Everyone can see. _Buzzing in the belly, thrumming in the chest, her voice like a million songs. Andraste’s ass, what am I doing…_ He’s lighter now. He doesn’t regret it. He misses your lips, though.” Cole speaks, his lip quirking up into an awkward smile. It was meaningful to her, though - the first time she’d seen him smile.

“I… Oh.” Vel feels a blush climbing up her neck and into her cheeks. She shifts awkwardly in her seat, kicking her skirt up over her ankles.

“It’s probably good that he’s not planning on saying anything. If the Seeker hears about this, she’ll disembowel me.” Varric chuckles, only half-serious.

“Oh, I wouldn’t let that happen. I prefer you with your guts inside your body.” Vel smiles, still blushing. She doesn’t mind that he notices. Almost on cue, Cole picks it up.

“His eyes linger a little longer than they should, but you don’t mind. If he blinks, he’ll miss it!” Cole smiles brighter, cocking his head to the side. His hat slides off his head onto the grassy path, uncovering his shaggy blonde hair and dirt-smudged face.

“Creators, Da’len, you need a bath! How long has it been?” Vel leans to cup his face in her hands, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket and trying to wipe off the grime. Varric couldn’t help but smile as Vel doted on the Kid, picking bits of dried leaves out of his hair.

“You called me _da’len_. I think I like it.” Cole murmurs, parts of his speech slurred as she rubs the grit off his cheeks and chin.

“Did I? Oh. Regardless, I’ll have a talk with Josephine and we’ll find you a nice warm bath, hm?” Vel hums, craning her neck back to face Varric and smiling. She really was too good to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I love them so much. Sorry this update took so long, I've been trying to put together a D&D group! Lots of effort but it's so worth it! Anyway, I hope you liked this! Please consider leaving kudos or a comment if you did! It's so appreciated!!!


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